Jesse Kyle Martin

Dear Jesse,

Last night Brandon told me you were gone. He said you decided to kill yourself in 1999. I told him that every so often I search for you on Myspace or Facebook, hoping that you would pop up. I now know why I never found you. I still remember the way you smelled, smiled, and had a quiet nervousness about you. I remember how we would playfully argue about Pontiac Grand Ams. I have always had a thing against them, and you loved your old car. I remember going to see KIDS with you at Village Cinema Arts and how I wondered if my emotional reaction to the movie would scare you away. You seemed so innocent, and I was already a mess. I remember your apartment on Riverside and how you were actually nervous at times about living there. I remember laughing at you about that because you had yet to find out that I lived in the heart of the ghetto. I remember your profile on After Hours - Hometown: "Lubbock or Leave It". I remember feeling very sure that I did the right thing by you when I broke it off, I felt you were too smart, had too much potential and that I would only be a bad influence on you. I remember feeling like I was too much of a distraction for your studies. I wanted you to finish your education and do great things. I was hurt when you started dating that mess of a girl whose name I don't remember. Rubenesque, that was her handle online. The situation disgusted me, how public she was about her exploits with you. I was mad that she didn't see you and hold you in as high regard as I did. That is why I disconnected completely and never spoke to you again. When you left Austin and went to Dallas I was glad that you were getting out of this situation. A year or so after you went up there I took a random road trip to do some partying with Becky. I called information from a pay phone to try to find you and was unsuccessful. I wanted to rekindle a friendship because you were just that cool. I wish I had tried harder that night, I don't know how or what I could have done, but I wish I had found you. All these years I was so sure you were out there doing something important. I was so sure that I would see you on Facebook one day, with a big happy family standing in front of a big happy house. I am sad to know that will never be the case. Goodbye, ten years too late.